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"No." His voice remained gentle but firm. "I need more than that."

She swallowed hard. "I don't know if I can."

He reached over, brushing a loose strand of her hair behind her ear. "Then let me believe it for you until you're ready."

Her eyes burned with unshed tears. "I wish I could see myself the way you do."

"You will." The certainty in his voice settled somewhere deep inside her. She wasn't sure she believed it—not yet—but somehow, she believed that he did. Maybe not today, but someday.

Soren finally opened the folder. Lily couldn't tear her gaze away from her own name written across the front in thick red marker. It looked wrong to her, as though someone had branded her. He removed the first photograph of her walking out of Collins Financial with her purse slung over one shoulder.

She frowned. "When was this?"

"Four months ago,” he said. Another photograph slid across the table. She was loading groceries into her car, followed by another of her standing in line at her favorite coffee shop. One of her unlocking the door to her apartment followed. One after another landed on the table in front of her. There had to be twenty photographs, maybe more.

Her hands began to tremble. "They followed me."

Soren nodded. "For months."

The air caught in her throat. "I—” Her gaze darted around the library as if someone might still be watching from the shadows. "I never noticed."

"You weren't supposed to,” Soren said. She wrapped her arms tightly around herself, suddenly feeling exposed despite the safety of Soren's home. "They were choosing women." His voice remained calm, measured. "They looked for women who lived alone—women with predictable routines. Women they believed would disappear without attracting immediate attention."

Every sentence settled over her like another crushing weight. "I wasn't hired because I was qualified."

Soren hesitated only briefly. "No."

The single word shattered her. "So—” Her voice cracked. "Richard hired me because⁠—"

"He intended to traffic you,” Soren whispered. The room blurred around her. She stared at the photographs without truly seeing them anymore. Every late night at the office suddenly made sense. Every strange question Richard Collins had asked. Every time he'd insisted she stay after everyone else had gone home. Every casual conversation about whether she had weekend plans or whether anyone was expecting her. Even when he asked if she lived alone. She'd thought he was simply making conversation. God, he'd been evaluating her.

"I almost—” The words refused to come. "I almost—” She couldn’t finish what she was about to say for fear it would make everything real.

Soren moved closer. "You survived."

"I almost didn't."

His arm slipped around her shoulders. "No." His voice remained steady. "You didn't almost become a victim, but you escaped becoming one."

Fresh tears spilled freely down her cheeks. "I was so stupid."

Soren gently turned her face toward his. "No, you weren’t stupid, babygirl."

"I should've seen it,” she insisted. "Instead, I ignored every warning sign."

"Lily." He waited until she finally met his eyes. "You believed people were basically good. That isn't stupidity—it’s kindness."

Her lips trembled. "They used my kindness, and they tried to traffic me.”

His thumb brushed away another tear. "They failed."

She leaned into him, resting her head against his chest. For several long minutes, neither of them spoke. His heartbeat echoed beneath her ear—slow, steady, and safe.

She closed her eyes. "I keep thinking that if I hadn't witnessed Richard's murder, I would have stayed employed with him.” She couldn't believe she was saying the words aloud. Soren's entire body went still. "I would've gone back to work on Monday." He closed his eyes. "And eventually, I would've disappeared."

His arms tightened around her. “But you’re safe now.” His voice was rough with emotion.

That was when the tears truly came. Not the quiet tears she'd become so practiced at hiding or the silent tears she'd cried alone in the shower. These were deep, broken sobs that seemed to tear themselves from somewhere inside her.